DM Salsa Presents - Rise of the Runelords

Game Master AdamWarnock

"Blimey."

Willie blinked at the orcling like a beached whale, not least because he was ill accustomed to company quite so direct in their speech as she. Old Foxy a crook, a thug and even a bedswerver? How horrid! "This is very serious," he agreed, setting his usually so open face into disapproval.

"You must tell me who has been spreading these vile rumors about the gent! Libel like that should go straight before Magnimar's top bench."

To think some could be so beastly as to propagate nasty gossip such as this. And about a first-rate fellow like Foxglove too! But then that was more than likely just the cause: the man being so exemplary. Envy was the burden of the better classes, and Willie was no stranger to mean hearsay himself. It wasn't too long ago that he had been accused of spanghewing toads into the university classics department during the night, a charge only lifted after much espousal. Granted, he had in fact committed the caper, but the point was that Willie understood how damaging these allegations could be.

"Now, I don't blame you of course," he assured the young woman. "You are of the people and can't understand these things. I've seen these mills churn out their rumors often now, and it's always the 'secret societies' that get people going." He nodded knowingly. "Perfectly benign, I promise you. I'm in three myself! I have an uncle who I'm told frequents some fifteen of the silly little shindigs. Just social clubs don't you know. The old chaps need their milky tea and afternoon naps, and just so they can have them in peace, they call it a 'guild' or whatnot. Worst thing they get up to is the odd exotic luncheon. I think that same uncle took part in eating the very last Irriseni sea cow... Regardless, I'm sure the good Lord's case is no different."

Scrapeknee frowns when Willie seems to deny having a dream. He had been SO sure everyone would have.

"Wilberforce, I have a feeling new information, or any at all, is a challenge for you, but do your best, eh?" She looks him full in the eye. They're probably about the same height, if her not being a whisper taller, so that's not an issue despite his long limbed build.

"I know about Creepypants' ties to the Gallows Gang because I was a member of it. Ain't no rumor, bucko, I heard it from the horse's mouth. And his behavior last night has multiple witnesses. Not every toff's like you, pouring their inheritance into a highball glass. Some of them use their dosh to amass power. At high cost to those of us 'of the people.'"

Cailyn looked back and forth between the two, taken back by the comment. Not just back but aback aback. Finally she makes it back to the front and says...

"Excuse me. The pastry has a question." Cailyn's voice was strong, cutting through the conversation, having at least a little of her mother in her "Last night was well Much, so I failed to notice... well much. What exactly did Foxglove do?" her eyes were on Ms. Ashborn, and her leaving off Foxglove's honorific was telling to some degree.

"With the winged woman and the white robes?"

"That's the one," she starts, some of the nervousness dissipating. If it was real, or at least mutually remembered, then it's a comfort. At the very least, it means they don't have to hash out that particular conversation again. "You should know, I meant everything I said."

Lita seems content to let that covnersation lie there for the time being, falling quiet as the others think about Thassilonians and subjects her own education had never really seen fit to include. History was all well and good and probably fit to study, but she'd never had much luck, personally, with anything that required that much reading.

"This isn't the first time I've gotten some kind of message from my Goddess or one of her servants. And Scrapeknee's clearly been blessed, so between us, and a disruption of a festival of Desna, messages in our dreams makes sense, but... I couldn't tell you why us. I'm sure the Gods have stronger servants willing to fight this fight. We might simply be the ones who were here, or they have plans on pushing us into being the stronger servants we're looking for. Father Zantus is a good place to start."

Lita had grown quiet as the conversation drifted to Lord Foxglove, though her face did pull into a displeased frown the longer Willie waved off Dare's concerns. When Cailyn speaks, though, she does speak up.

"He didn't do much but look last night, but there was some looking. He was hanging on anything you said, making very sure he was making a good impression on you. And only you, didn't care too much who else saw the way he was only interested as long as you were looking at him." Lita glances back towards Willie, voice going a little quiet, unsure if continuing is wise. "Some people - ones that care more about appearing good than actually being it - they'll put a lot of effort towards a flawless appearance, but if you're not one of the people whose opinion they care about... Look, I'll be happy if we're wrong. I'm not saying we've got to run him out of town and ruin his name or anything, but I think it'd do us well to be cautious around him."

Scrapeknee listens to this conversation with growing concern...

"This isn't the first time I've gotten some kind of message from my Goddess or one of her servants. And Scrapeknee's clearly been blessed, so between us, and a disruption of a festival of Desna, messages in our dreams makes sense, but... I couldn't tell you why us. I'm sure the Gods have stronger servants willing to fight this fight. We might simply be the ones who were here, or they have plans on pushing us into being the stronger servants we're looking for. Father Zantus is a good place to start."

"Yes, I think we should definitely talk to him. I'm not...sure what to make of my blessing but I've got a responsibility to use it wisely. I'm hoping you'll be able to make sure I don't bungle it, Lita." He coughs into his hand.

The conversation about Foxglove however is very over his head "He was very focused on you, Cailyn. I thought he just might admire you. There's a lot TO admire, but then I can miss a clue or three when it comes to people so maybe I read him wrong. Maybe you shouldn't be alone with him?"

Cailyn crosses arms and forms her lips in a firm line as she listens to the other's advice. She is a shut-in bookworm with no inheritance (her mother does not believe in such things) and no prospects. Attention as they suggest makes little to no sense.

When they are done, she says in a measured tone "Thank you for your concern. My attention at the table was diverted elsewhere..." on friends and food "... so currently I have not formed an opinion."

It was clear that while she did listen to them, she needed to make her own mind up on things...

Then she turns her attention to Ms. Ashborn "The Gallows Gang?" it is unsure if she was asking in relation to defining which gang she was talking about or about information about the gang.

Cause even I don't know if she knows anything about them. Not from personal experience of course, but from stories and rumors, news sheets and gossip
local: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (1) + 11 = 12
And EVERYTHING she knows is pure hogwash

Unless the GM houserules differently, 1s on skill checks are not automatic failures. Crit fail only applies to attacks and saving throws.

Dare gives a grateful look at Lita for backing her up, but recalcitrance and reluctance by three persons to accept what she shares as at least possible, Dare interprets as an unwillingness to take her seriously, and she throws up her hands. "Fine, I'm a total f@#~wit and I don't know anything!" She looks at Cailyn. "I was trying to help you, you know. I don't want that a~!#$~* to take advantage of you or rape you or something! That's what men like him do to pretty chits who don't even know who runs Rag's End. But never mind! I'll keep my f*#*ing mouth shut from now on!" She clenches her fists and walks faster, freshly cleaned boots getting all dusty from the vigor with which she stomps.

(Rag's End is a bad neighborhood in Magnimar. I think that would probably be known to most Magnimarians?)

Re: Rag's End - Yes, that's correct.

Inside Cailyn's chest anger fires like a nearsighted alchemist's mismixed coffee. Instead of just grabbing it and smothering it like a good proper--

Oh, what the effing hells, she is a Vanderale, her mother is as ruthless as a merchant can be when she needs to be.

So instead she grabs her skirts in two fists and rushes after the half-orc "Ms. Ashborn! Would you kindly slow the F~%$ down!" She has been taught that using profanity should be reserved for punctuation of a moment, adding weight. And while that is true in her mind, and this would be one of those moments to add weight, she actually curses because she is angry.

"I say," was all the shocked city boy could say at Dare's outburst initially. His poor grey matter was still chewing on her words like they were baked leather, only digesting them slowly. The orc-ling being a hardened outlaw, Foxglove forcing himself on Cailyn, criminal conspiracies and even what he suspected might be a strike against his intelligence. This was all quite more than Willie was comfortable with. His mouth imitated a dumb fish, opening and closing a few times, before venturing further, settling into a query.

The gent needn't wonder what to say next, however. Cailyn, as it turned out, had plenty to say.

"Cailyn, old girl!" At her first expletive, Willie couldn't have recoiled any further had mean old Professor Cadbury risen from his grave to flog him once more. While he now suspected that Ms Ashborn ('Right, that was her name!') only meant well, her condescension had apparently worn away at the half-elf. And while Wilberforce wasn't the sharpest egg in the attic, even he knew better than to get in between two ill tempered women.

He looked to the ever sympathetic Lita with a resigned little smirk. "Don't suppose you could remind me who among us has fire & brimstone running through their veins, what?"

Scrapeknee struggles to keep up as Ashborn storms ahead Cailyn goes after her. His eyes widen as the latter lets loose a curse he did not expect.

Dare's warnings about Foxglove HAVE alarmed him. If this man is such a monster, and loose in Sandpoint, then he definitely needs to warn his Uncle the Sheriff to keep an eye on the fellow.

Dare doesn't come to a full stop, but she hears Scrapeknee laboring to follow and slows down, so Cailyn should be able to say her piece.

And in response to Cailyn, she begins to blurt, "But I do-" She stops herself, as the thought doesn't properly form in her head until she starts speaking: ... care about you.

And why she would she has no idea, except, whispers a tiny, almost mischievous voice in the back of her head, perhaps she hasn't had this much fun arguing with someone in years. She is still worried. She is very worried about everything happening. But Dare is also noticing that she gives a f*#& about what these people think and that's sort of nice too. She just falls silent, overwhelmed by her own mood whiplash, and keeps going.

As Wilberforce speculates on "fire and brimstone," while she is aware he is referencing Lita, she answers back to him. "Me. Salamander ancestry. Least that's what my magic teacher thought. They're even bigger jerks than orcs and humans so...no wonder why I'm such a joy to be around."

The noble in her own tight embrace looks up at the half-orc as she starts to respond with something... but what? Sighing she listens to Wilberforce's exclamation and Ms. Ashborn's response. "Spireborn elf is mine. My ancestry. Elves that known to be xenophobic to the extreme, prone to judging simply based on differences." Cailyn says still looking up, her spiraling negativity decreasing somewhat as she jades her own being.

"Well, you both seem like good people to me. If saving people like you do, Dare, makes one a Jerk, then the world needs more jerks.... if you don't mind me saying."

And a nod to Cailyn, "And I don't know about Spirelves, but I know who my friends are and I consider you one. This Spire's loss is Sandpoint's gain."

Scrapeknee's comments have her turning to him. With a sigh, she packs away her negative feelings, "The spire would never be an option. Xenophobic applies to any outsider, which even with these..." she loops her hair over her pointed ear "I am still an outsider."

But she recognizes the deflection he was providing, so she slows letting the faster Ms. Ashborn lead them to the cathedral.

Dare barks a laugh at Scrapeknee. "I think one of me's enough."

All wonderful role-play that Conrad is missing out by getting hit on! :P

Conrad's heart skips a beat. He dares not look up from his shoes. In any other circumstances, he'd just think that the young woman wanted to talk about their shared visions (and part of him still clung desperately to that idea), but between Tera's unsubtle teasing and Joanna's visible blushing... He could take a hint.

What were you even supposed to answer to a woman like that? That he's never had had tea in his life? That his previous experiences were limited to bar maids, seasonal workers at the lumber camp, and a couple of fun times with the blacksmith's son? Or just that he doesn't see how this whole thing will play out - because it's not like she can introduce him to her parents, can't she? What was she trying to get out of this? Just a one-night-stand?

Suddenly, he feels the urge to be anywhere but here. Even back on the main square fighting goblins if it was what it took.

A quick (and embarrassingly desperate) look around informs Conrad that no one is paying enough attention to get him out of his spiraling. So he takes the coward's way out. "S-sure," he replies lamely. "To talk about the d-dream? Mayb-be when you f-feel b-better?" Gods, he stammered even more than usual. He's got no idea what to do with his hands after ruffling his hair through ten seconds straight, and buries them in his pockets. Putting the 'pan' back in 'panic'

Scrapeknee's comments have her turning to him. With a sigh, she packs away her negative feelings, "The spire would never be an option. Xenophobic applies to any outsider, which even with these..." she loops her hair over her pointed ear "I am still an outsider."

Dare barks a laugh at Scrapeknee. "I think one of me's enough."

Scrapeknee feels flustered, but not in a totally bad way.. "Fine. I'm full of silly platitudes, but that's how I am somedays, but I'm still glad you're both here and in one of my few acts of rebellion... so there." Sheepishly, as they make their way towards the Cathedral.

His companions might notice he pauses to check his hair briefly before they get to its doors.

The five of you, lead by Dare and Lita, reach the Cathedral and open the doors to find that the acolytes are busy tending to the injured still in the Cathedral. Off to one side you see Dani and an exasperated Tera who's apparently trying to get the other young woman to give herself a chance to rest and recover while on the other side of this wing of the cathedral you see Conrad and Joanna talking, and both blushing rather furiously while doing so.

Dare enters, and before going anywhere, she taps Lita on the shoulder.

"Before I let myself get distracted again... well..." She rubs the back of her head. "Thanks. For what you said earlier, I mean. I reckon we've got a few things in common. Though damned if I know where you get your patience." She shakes her head. "Let's talk again, but I've got to talk to..."

Here she takes a note at Joanna and Conrad, and seeing the flushed looks. Tera is meanwhile talking to Dani, but Dare's not keen on talking to Tera. Then again, Conrad is getting that "help I'm in a social situation I don't know what to do with" look on his face, and she wonders if an interruption might actually be welcome. "Gods help me if I f~*% this up..."

She walks over toward Conrad and Joanna, giving the former a warm clap on the back. "Hey! There you are! We were wondering if you were alright. Listen, I hate to interrupt," she nods to Joanna, "But I told you I needed to talk to her and her partner/cousin/sister or whatever the other one is, so is this a good time or should I come back later?"

"Don't suppose you could remind me who among us has fire & brimstone running through their veins, what?"

Lita's answer comes in the form of a brief chuckle, somewhere between amused and exasperated, and a little shake of the head.

"It's not such a bad thing, fire in the blood. Sounds like your cousin's got a bit of it in her, too, even if it's not as literal."

Dare enters, and before going anywhere, she taps Lita on the shoulder.

"Before I let myself get distracted again... well..." She rubs the back of her head. "Thanks. For what you said earlier, I mean. I reckon we've got a few things in common. Though damned if I know where you get your patience." She shakes her head. "Let's talk again, but I've got to talk to..."

"More than a few, I think." Lita offers her a smile, and, after a moment of thought, a friendly pat to the upper arm, though there's a bit of awkwardness in the way she pulls her hand back, like she's not sure it was acceptable to do in the first place, and she's not sure how to finish the gesture now that she's started it. She settles for pushing some hair back from her forehead and giving a little half-hearted shrug. "You know how it is. If they're going to think I'm a threat either way, then either I can lean into it, or learn to placate. I got good at keeping my head down." Her smile turns lopsided, before she clears her throat. "Right. I'll look for Father Zantus, but give us a shout if you need a hand."

She pauses, long enough for Dare to head off, before scanning the rest of the room, looking for any sign of Zantus.

"We can talk about the dream, and I wanted to thank you for helping to save me."

"No p-problem," Conrad shifts from foot to foot. "I t-told you alread-d-y, it was n-nothing." Beat. "I mean, I t-told you... In the d-dream. M-maybe?... You h-heard t-that, r-right?"

This was getting more and more confusing. For a split second, he wishes that lighting would hit the cathedral and directly strike him where he stood, put him out of his misery.

Conrad doesn't cry tears of relief when Dare steps in, but the look he gives her is both a little surprised and definitely grateful. "O-k-kay," he gives Joanna a little wave. "See you l-later."

He slinks off towards some familiar faces, a bit too hurriedly to seem nonchalant. "Hey," he nods to Lita. "You l-looking for someone?"

"Hello, Conrad. Hello, Joanna. Sorry to intrude..." the young Shoanti gives a welcome to both. Then, not sure if Dare or Lita will bring up the subject, but he thought he heard something "Pardon me, Conrad. did you mention a dream?"

"Er... Yeah," Conrad looks sheepish. "Some k-kind of vision. J-Joanna had it too." He shakes his head. "It's n-nothing."

"Er... Yeah," Conrad looks sheepish. "Some k-kind of vision. J-Joanna had it too." He shakes his head. "It's n-nothing."

"Actually, I think it is something. You see, most of us had dreams too." He lowers his voice more "In my case, there was a messenger of Desna. Was your dream involving divine matters as well? Because we need to compare notes. A darkness is coming to Sandpoint. That seems to be the common theme."

Conrad moves to go, and Dare is relieved that both he looks relieved and that she can finally have the conversation she needs to have with one of the merchants, preferably with some pretense at privacy.

And then Scrapeknee shuffles up to talk about the bloody dreams again. Dare fully understood this was important and that Scrapeknee seemed like an awfully nice bloke and m%$&!%#&&%~$ why could she not be left alone to do one f~&*ing thing?

The memory of said dream and the angel more or less urging her to keep her temper and work with these folks accomplished the opposite, and she feels the fire inside her rise. Snapping her fingers, she conjures a spark and lights a nearby church candle, expelling a small amount of the energy within her to keep it in check. Inhale. Exhale.

Never mind. She had to get this over with.

"Joanna," she says loudly, moving closer to the merchant. Before anyone else can say anything, she just rapidly launches into a speech that she has probably practiced a few times. As she goes into the meat of the message, her tone is devoid of the usual spark, whether joyful or rageful, that tends to infuse her manner of expression. A casual observer might see her simply being stoic, or perhaps rote. A person with a modicum of ability to Sense someone's Motives might detect that Dare is actually afraid.

"My 'uncle' Jubrayl Vhiski and 'cousin' Iulian have made it very clear to me that I am to apologize for my insulting you and Tera the other evening and for any distress I may have caused. I am very sorry. Moreover, Uncle Jubrayl has suggested," there is emphasis on this word to indicate it means "directed," "That as you are a friend of the Family, I should offer my services to you as a bodyguard. I served as Chaz Frallino's bodyguard in Magnimar, and his father praised my abilities, and indeed, it is through his endless generosity that he released me to come to Sandpoint instead. I recognize that not only we got off on the wrong foot, but I failed to get to you quickly enough yesterday during the attack and as a result you were both wounded. That is also my fault, and I am ready to accept whatever punishment you deem fit." She at last, inhales, and then adds, flatly, "I am at your service."

"Me. Salamander ancestry. Least that's what my magic teacher thought. They're even bigger jerks than orcs and humans so...no wonder why I'm such a joy to be around."

"Ah," replied Willie, not sure what else to say on the pitfalls of genetic destiny, formidable topic that it was, before nevertheless venturing on with the tone usually reserved for observing a bit of bothersome weather, "Well, it's as my Aunt Arabella always says: what's bred in the bone will come out in the wash, and all that kind of thing." He wrinkled his nose, looking lost in thought for a moment. "Seems a dashed convenient excuse for being an arse, says I."

Far from being a remonstration against anyone else, the young gent voiced this idea with himself in mind. For it was a rummy thing, wasn't it - the blood in one's veins? Those drops carried more expectations than any bottle of red, and he'd seen some utterly batty wine aficionados in his time. Take Dare and that dear Lita; they had ample excuse to revel in the old vices. Why shouldn't they? After all, no one expected anything more from orc-lings and the fiend-blooded. Willie knew only too well how easy - and fun! - obeying one's worst inclinations could be!

And yet neither woman traipsed down that jaunty boulevard, the one with the music halls, pubs and other temptations. Nay, Lita instead teetered on the narrowest path of all, that of the paladin! And Dare... Well, she evidently tried to rein in the mad horse fate had strapped her to. And they did so despite the wider world carrying no expectations of them beyond sating their basest cravings, whether that be the aggression of orcs or the depravity of fiends. Or whatever salamanders got up to, whatever those were. Presumably then, the two kept on the straight and narrow out of a plain will to do good, an effort Willie applauded.

Even if it contrasted rather poorly against himself. Willie was of proper Taldan stock. Willie carried the legacy of not just one, but two proud names. Willie's blood came with a great deal of expectations. And like the two women, he had defied the odds in a sense - though arguably not for the better. The gent thought back on his childhood. A phantasmagoria of berating tutors, tutting seniors and disappointed guardians was conjured before his mind's eye. All quite too much for a stripling such as he. Which was why he had not just failed in his prospects, but abandoned them entirely, taking up his current existence of wastrel - lounging in the day, frolicking in the night. There really was no freedom like doing away with all expectations!

All the more rummy then that he found the shackles Lita and Dare imposed on themselves rather rousing.

They had reached the temple and Willie shed all these positively doleful thoughts like a snake shed its skin. Whatever was the matter with him? "Conrad, old boy!" he smiled in spotting the stout fellow and finally remembering his name. "Thanks the Heavens! I've been wondering whether you're our only hope. Listen, you're the stolid, honest sort, aren't you? The salt of the earth and so forth? Well, I fear the rest of the chaps have gotten this injudicious notion of doom - you know, the End of Days and whatnot. Don't suppose you can convince them to give it all up, what?"

Cailyn moved to Tera and Dani, since Conard and Jo seemed to be... well something. "Good morning, the day has begun and you are both hard at work already. It is commendable..." which makes her feel guilty for simply planning on reading all day long. "Once we've spoken to the Father, I could help if you don't mind."

in my opinion, there is never a thing with Too much posting.

Cailyn moved to Tera and Dani, since Conard and Jo seemed to be... well something. "Good morning, the day has begun and you are both hard at work already. It is commendable..." which makes her feel guilty for simply planning on reading all day long. "Once we've spoken to the Father, I could help if you don't mind."

I know this is a simple mispelling, but 'connard' (with two 'n') is French for 'jerk' or 'd+&%~ead'. Bit of a bilingual joke.

Conrad stares at Willie like he's just grown a second head. He's not certain he got every single word he used, but he's definitely not a fan of the condescending tone.

He frowns. "D-doom? W-why? B-because of the d-dreams?"

I know this is a simple mispelling, but 'connard' (with two 'n') is French for 'jerk' or 'd@*&!ead'. Bit of a bilingual joke.

Conrad stares at Willie like he's just grown a second head. He's not certain he got every single word he used, but he's definitely not a fan of the condescending tone.

He frowns. "D-doom? W-why? B-because of the d-dreams?"

Scrapeknee nods, "In the Dream Dani and I shared, Selalia ... a messenger of Desna, told me while omens are not what they were, threads have begun to converge on Sandpoint.A dark cloud hangs over our town and It's up to us to help decide Sandpoint's fate."

"So it's not d-doomed if we c-can d-do something about it," Conrad nods resolutely - but his voice falters somewhat.

Maybe he needs to convince himself of it too.

"Oh yeah? What's your excuse then?"

Precisely the young man's thoughts although he was only too eager to leave these behind, especially at the opportunity for some plucky banter. "Ah, well, only charity!" he therefore laughed. "It wouldn't do to let you languish at your low level all by your lonesome, old girl! Terribly rude, that."

Not actually too fond of writing introspective posts with Willie, but I enjoy these parallels between PCs too much not to do something with it.

-----

"Oh no," he cried back at the temple as Conrad provided not the sober sense of the ragtag & bobtail, but rather proved the most recent convertee to this doomsday sect. This was getting out of hand! "Listen," Willie went on, reaching for a different tactic, "let's assume there really is something to this End of Days business. So what? As the fellow says, none of this matters unless we can do something about it. So what do you propose we do?"

An appeal to mortal infirmity, that should do the trick! The city boy was all too familiar with dismissing what he could not affect anyway - examples ranging from the weather, the temperament of tutors, and how singular socks had a habit of splitting up from their partner - and he found it wonderfully freeing! Surely these dear chaps would recognize the folly in plain folks such as them trying to postpone doomsday. He hoped so; Willie was getting quite concerned for them!

"I d-don't know yet," Conrad can't help but roll his eyes. "B-but these visions are not n-normal. Unless you've had them o-often?"

"Yes, Conrad is right, we can take action and that means there is hope." he nods "And I don't know either exactly. That's why I was hoping to pool our various visions together to compare clues and leads."

As she waits for a response, she pipes into the other conversation, "Maybe, Scrapeknee, but I don't know how putting on a blue dress and waving hello to the sunrise helps save the world."

Know GM has been wrapped up with stuff, just keeping the thread active.

As she waits for a response, she pipes into the other conversation, "Maybe, Scrapeknee, but I don't know how putting on a blue dress and waving hello to the sunrise helps save the world."

Know GM has been wrapped up with stuff, just keeping the thread active.

A smile at that, not a mocking one, "Well, if you believed mine, rescuing the world might involve taking the time to dance. I don't know. I think the words we were told would be the key factor. And, well, at least each of us now knows we're not crazy or imagining things."

"Your dream had you in a blue dress?" Cailyn who had been helping with the wounded comes back over to converse again. "I was eating breakfast so I was still in my night clothes."

Conrad doesn't dare chime in with a description of his own silken, rainbow-coloured clothes. "We were w-wearing the robes of Shelyn's c-clerics," he still explains.

"Lita said it was something acolytes of Sarenrae wear. Chances are we've got all three girlfriends: Shelyn, Sarenrae, and Desna. And, apparently, the god of breakfast," she says, and then adds a beat later: "Which, based on my experiences this morning, might be Ameiko."

A look of deep curiosity comes over Cailyn's face "What was the dish? The white deer has a delightful seaweed wrap that has this paper thin crips to it coupled with the savor sauce into that practically Spills out on the first bite." the memory has the poor girl rather excited, making her forget she felt the need to correct something.

"Oh, but no. Ameiko is not the god of breakfast, that would be Ganny Elda. Well, not breakfasts specifically, but kitchens and thus cooking, which includes breakfast."

Dare just kind of stares at Cailyn for a moment, half-incredulous and half-amused. "We're talking about the gods warning us about doom coming to Sandpoint and..." She sighs. "Ameiko gave me pancakes, if you must know." She pauses, drawing it out to tease. "Pancakes with lots and lots of butter and sorghum syrup. And cheesy grits... and eggs and sausage... and fruit. I've got the leftovers if you're hungry." A beat. "Never heard of Ganny Elda, but if she's a real deity then it seems like there's a load of divine concern racking up here. Either the world's ending or someone's planning a..." Dare tries to come up with what the goddesses of stars, fire, kitchens, and art and love would want, "A... starlight barbecue and poetry reading?"

She sighs at the group. "It's the world ending isn't it?"

Cailyn closes her eyes, clasps her hands, and imagines the fluffy hot cakes. She is truly a lost cause when it comes to food.

As Dare's thoughts continue outload, Cailyn's tone becomes sadly serious "Probably..." she opens her eyes, looking up at the flame tearted warrior "Or at least the end of this portion of it."

The thought simmered in the air. Cailyn found a bit of lint on her dress, that she brushes off. "Until then... did you mention leftovers?" a dash of hope glimmering in the gloom.

A moral nudge in her heart, maybe brought on by a groan from someone injured, makes her add. "For the wounded, of course "

Dare's eyebrow is shooting into her hairline, making the flame tattoo grow higher. At the concession from Cailyn, she reflexively, perhaps against her own will, shoots the half-elf a genuine grin--the first one she's probably aimed in Cailyn's direction. "Now that's actually a good idea." It helps that her fear of being judged herself has begun to fade...

She reaches into her pack and pulls out the pancakes and sausages wrapped in the waxed canvas. "I bet there's some kids here could use some cheering."

Scrapeknee looks.. oddly pleased, borderline smug.

I keep telling them they're good people, and they act like they don't believe me, but yet here they are. even those who are pure of heart may indulge in a little patting of their own back, though he is too good to say 'I told you so'

Conrad struggles to keep up with Dare's sudden ramblings about breakfast, and is about to ask for more details, when she fishes her leftovers from her backpack. "It d-does smell g-good," he concedes.

He is suddenly very, very aware that he hasn't eaten much since he last went to bed. His mouth begins to water. "D-does she make p-pancakes like that every d-day?" he asks as innocently as possible. His tone, however, more than suggests that he wouldn't mind finding that out for himself.